you were the diamond on the truck-stop floor. the hiss of sparked ignitions wafted through your mind, sandy and confused-- meaningless, like cake crumbs. cake crumbs you swept up and all, for what?
the little green man inside your hypocrisy (disguised as paradox) hid away.. feeling deeper and deeper into the recesses of flesh you once called home.
there had been a time. of course, we all know time is linear, and all that is linear must soon and completely find halt within eternity.. as if the dribble of a drain makes a marble of the ocean.. as if a handful of ocean ice water will diminish the intensity of the seven seas at their largest... as if a sky full of rain and a raindrop full of see and be seen is really much more than you're looking at.
I took my own hand this time, skipping down the trail. it was overcast and foggy. Melancholy rested in the air and on the dew of the leaves, I was thirsty and pooled it to the middle of a particular green, drinking like a bowl from the Jungle Book. All I could taste was white wine and dandelion bitters. All I could smell was that metallic springtime rainfall smell, the night sauteed in the heat of the morning. The sun now at it's zenith above Honolulu, perhaps.. above Midway, or the Solomon Islands. In my minds eye, I could taste the thirsty coconut milk of Tahiti.
What I saw in the mist, dear Reader, was nothing short of breath. My breath. My breath. My breath. Condensation a frothy steam from teapot of mouth, steeping syntax and semantics into novels of thought all expressed in the limelight of sudden conversation and fitful, rightful, frightening intrigue.
You can never really love enough, can you? You can never truly **** the thought without the thought first taking you.. asking you.. begging you..
thinking and thinking and thinking.....
.. . . .. . . .. . .. . . .... . . why?
Lawrence,
why?